


What I've Become

by saem



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellamy becomes a Reaper instead of Lincoln, Canon Divergence, F/M, Reaper!Bellamy, i was sad writing this, lots of guilt, lots of violence b/c bellamy is a reaper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:23:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2831387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saem/pseuds/saem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Bellamy is the one that gets turned into a Reaper, instead of Lincoln. Canon divergence from the season 1 finale.</p><p>His mind hazes over. The actions his body commits are not what his mind wants. He feels like he’s back on the Ark, watching from a window as the world turns in front of him. This is not his body. This is not his body.</p><p>He loses his words to snarls and growls. When he spits and howls like a wildcat, a piece of him—muted by the drugs, but still there, still terribly alive—is both shamed and terrified. This is not his voice. This is not his voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I've Become

**Author's Note:**

> soo i had the idea for this because i was thinking 'damn u know what would be real sad?" and then i made myself sad. and u gotta spread the sadness around. also i dont have a beta so excuse any errors please!
> 
> this is definitely going to be angsty.

 

Bellamy fought too hard against Mount Weather. From the moment he woke up in the Quarantine Ward, he was smashing windows and attacking nurses. All he wanted was to see his people. When he broke the arm of one of the guards, that was the final straw. 

They were going to hang him up like the Grounders, drain him of his blood. But that’s when Cage Wallace intervened. The strength, the speed, and the power of Bellamy all made him a perfect candidate for the Cerberus program.

At first he resists; Bellamy fights valiantly, like they all do. But everybody succumbs. The high-pitched Noise makes him limp, useless. Eventually he starts to need the drugs, crave them. 

His mind hazes over. The actions his body commits are not what his mind wants. He feels like he’s back on the Ark, watching from a window as the world turns in front of him. This is not his body. This is not his body.

He loses his words to snarls and growls. When he spits and howls like a wildcat, a piece of him—muted by the drugs, but still there, still terribly alive—is both shamed and terrified. This is not his voice. This is not his voice.

The disassociation fades sometimes; Bellamy has a moment of clarity, and in that moment, he chooses to grab the needle. But the needle is beside this body. Whose body is that? Why is it bloody?

Bellamy knows. He knows and he still grabs the needle. As the drug sends him floating, he thinks _you are weak._

He doesn’t keep track of time anymore. All he knows are places: this is where he fights over the needle; the is where they strap him down; and finally, this is the mine shaft.

From his little spot inside his body, Bellamy is terrified of the other Reapers. They seem huge and primal and vicious. When they come close to him, he howls and bares his teeth. They back away from him then. 

Early in the program, Bellamy bit Cage’s hand in an act of rebellion. Cage was inspired. He had crowns attached to Bellamy’s canines; the four silver teeth make Bellamy wolfish and inhuman.

Before he gets thrown in the mineshaft, Bellamy passes a glass window. He sees his face, but it’s not _his face_ —it’s just the mask on top of it. His eyes were never so red. His mouth didn’t hang open with metal teeth. Never had his hair been allowed to grow so wildly. It was the moment Bellamy realized just how far they had taken him.

He belonged in this mineshaft, grunting and growling. Once, another Reaper tries to grab the hunk of meat he’s eating. Bellamy tackles the offender. The fight ends when Bellamy rips out the jugular vein with his teeth. 

Blood goes everywhere, and Bellamy loves it. It’s dark red and wet and warm. The sight of it sends his heart into palpitations. Adrenaline floods his skin, and he leaps off the body and grabs the first Reaper he sees. 

This one is bigger, stronger. Bellamy is pleased for the challenge. They roll and fight and punch. There’s no end goal. There’s nothing to be gained. But the rush of the battle and the thrill of the hunt make him crave the fight.

He kills three more Reapers just for the fun of it.

The little voice in his head—the voice that he used to speak with, the person he used to be—has almost faded completely. Guilt exhausts him. Bloodlust is the only thing that keeps him moving.

He becomes accustomed to the darkness of the mineshaft. Until he sees a flash of light at the other end, thirty feet away.

But it’s not light. It’s hair. Light, blonde hair. Attached to a head and a body. This body is familiar.

The knowledge comes from a place deep within him. The little voice swims up through the fog until it breaks the surface, screaming, “Clarke! Get away!”

The other Reapers are a dozen or so feet behind him. He’s the only one that’s seen her. The prey is his. He’s never had to chase a meal before. The thought of it sends his pulse racing. Saliva drips out of his mouth.

She’s half-turned towards him. Another shape is behind her, close. Moving. Bellamy will kill them both. But he will chase them first.

He breaks out into a run. Bloodlust propels him forward. His vision tunnels on light hair.

She turns to face him, stumbles. Stops. The other shape grabs her, yanks at her arm.

Bellamy snarls, and the sound echoes down the tunnel. 

They run.

Good.

Bellamy sprints so low to the ground he might as well be on all fours. The excitement of the hunt has him hyperventilating.

The light hair is running fast. But Bellamy is faster. He wants it more. He wants blood. He wants to rip his teeth into her throat, pull the limbs from her body, he wants to _howl_.

A bend in the tunnel makes the shapes ahead pause. Bellamy rushes forward, until he realizes why they’ve stopped. 

Two other Reapers, blocking any exits. Moving for the shapes.

Rage surges in Bellamy. It’s his prey, it’s his kill, it’s his—

_Clarke_ , says the little voice.

He runs directly past the light hair, barreling into the first Reaper. They punch and fight for a moment, Bellamy roaring and spitting. He rakes his nails down their face, leaving lines of blood. A few more punches and the head beneath him is unrecognizable.

Bellamy stands up. The other Reaper is leaner. It’s using its speed to grab at the shapes. The light haired one can’t seem to stop looking at Bellamy, even as the Reaper claws at her. 

Letting out an unholy shriek, Bellamy leaps at the Reaper, using the momentum of his jump to smash its head into the ground. He rears back to tear out its throat, when the Noise starts.

His muscles immediately go limp. He falls over, whimpers. The Noise sends little currents of pain through his entire body.

Several Mountain Men walk past his prone body.

One of them kicks his face. Bellamy bares his teeth. 

“Jesus. Cage has a sick sense of humour,” says the mask. The words are unintelligible to Bellamy.

He watches as the Mountain Men grab the girl and lead her away.

“Let go! Stop! I’ve seen everything, you can’t…” the voice fades into the Noise as they disappear further into the tunnel, but the lilt makes Bellamy queasy.

It sounds like a memory. It sounds like the colour blue. All Bellamy knows now is red, but that sounded like blue…

_Clarke,_ the little voice inside of him is stronger in nostalgic moments, and it takes the opportunity. _That was Clarke. Clarke._

The Noise stops. Bellamy sits up. The body beside him moves.

He can’t remember what he was doing.

The body grabs his hand.

So _that’s_ what he was doing.

Bellamy tears at the Reaper with teeth and nails until it stops fighting back. The blood is warm on his skin. He trails his wet fingers down his face, leaving eight lines of warpaint on his cheeks.

Victorious, he stands up and wanders away from the two bodies. He casts a look behind him, feeling a presence in the opposite tunnel. But nothing’s there.

He walks on.

 

+++

 

Clarke can’t focus on protesting against the Mountain Men. Her mind is reeling, trying to process what she’s seen.

Bellamy is a Reaper. 

It doesn’t sound real to her. It’s like a nightmare, but so horrific in reality that she can’t even wrap her mind around it.

The way he chased her, snarling, spitting, making those inhuman Reaper sounds that freeze blood. Even with his mess of hair, the strange flashes of metal in his mouth, she still recognized him. He was still wearing his clothes from the battle weeks before. But they were stained and shredded.

Inside Mount Weather, Clarke assumed Bellamy had escaped the Mountain Men. Nobody had seen him. It was an optimistic assumption to make, and something that she had hoped so much for. To have that hope crushed, destroyed, _tainted_ by the reality makes her numb.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt us…” she says to the men on either side of her, “but that was one of my people back there! You did that to him!”

Clarke thrashes wildly against their iron grips. “I won’t be quiet! I’ve seen what you do! You made the monsters! You made him!”

“Shut up!” One of them snaps, “You’ll be going into the harvest chamber.”

In response, Clarke kicks out her legs in an unusually acrobatic move, just missing the man on the right side of her.

A wild cry sounds behind them, and Anya comes flying out of the shadows, knocking one of the Mountain Men to the ground. How she even has the strength to do any fighting at all is beyond Clarke.

“Their masks!” Clarke yells. Anya nods her understanding.

In a few wild seconds, the fight is over, and both men lie gasping at their feet, masks smashed. The door that Clarke had been led to beeps and starts to open.

The two women take off towards the other end of the tunnel, the sound of stomping boots close behind them. Anya leads the way to light at the end of the mineshaft. They both stop at the lip of the opening, where the bright outdoor light blinds them. Below them is a huge waterfall. Like, _probable death_ waterfall.

“I won’t die here,” says Anya, whose ferocity is perhaps only matched by her sense of honour. She leaps, body taught, over the edge. 

Clarke watches her form disappear into the mist, unable to ignore the sense of admiration she feels. More than anything else, the Grounders are free. Clarke thinks of how easily her people were coddled by warm baths and clean clothes; so willing to relinquish control.

But not Bellamy. He must have fought, even harder than she did, from the very beginning. Look where that got him.

Clarke decides. She’ll come back for them. For _all_ of them.

The Mountain Men come around the corner. “Stop!”

Clarke leaps, arms flailing. For a moment, she is airborne, unaffected by gravity. 

Once, when she was a child, the rotation metric on the Ark malfunctioned and the artificial gravity released. It could only have been minutes, but Clarke remembers the feeling of weightlessness as she floated upwards as if it lasted for hours.

For a moment, she is a child again.

And then she is falling.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me what you thought about it! comments are always the best. more chapters to come...


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